the Right Moment
by began-to-climb
Summary: She promised she'd wait for him, but after four years she moved on. But now he's come back and he isn't ready for what he finds. SaraMichael
1. Breaking Out

**Name: **The Right Moment

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: **Sara said she'd wait for him, but she got tired of waiting and moved on. Now he's come back for her and isn't expected what he's found.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, they belong firmly to the people behind _Prison Break_, but I do own Colin.

**Authors Note: **This story will only contain three or four chapters; relatively short. This is also sort of playing with the idea about Sara's upcoming guest on the show (spoiler!).

XXXX

_Fox River State Penitentiary, Four years prior_

"Sara, what the hell are you doing here?"

The clipboard of medical records gripped in Sara Tancredi's hands fell to the floor with a clank the moment she saw Michael Scofield knelt on the window ledge in the infirmary, sweating and firmly holding onto the wire suspended down the wall. Sara heard the faint voices of other men calling up to Michael, but the young tattooed inmate didn't move. Every brain cell in his body was trying to reach the answer to why Sara was still in the prison.

What had been the possibility that she would still be there during the break out? Michael hadn't come up with an answer and Sara hadn't spoken, only stared blankly at him, ignoring her fallen paperwork so he asked the demanding question. She continued to gawk at him, then shook her head. Michael saw her eyes change tent; they were suddenly cold.

"I'm finishing some last minute paperwork and was keeping Lincoln—where's Lincoln?" She paused, realizing the error of her question. Of course, they're brothers; he's in on this. "Are you breaking out?" Sara asked harshly, stepping towards him for the first time as her anger began to rise. How could she have been so blind?

"Sara…" Michael cautiously stepped off the ledge and back into the shadowed room, carefully moving to Sara with his hands out in a gesture that screamed no harm intended. "You have to leave right now, please. I can't risk you becoming involved."

"Answer me, Michael!" Sara demanded.

Michael cringed at her harsh voice. He put his fingers on his pursed lips to shush her then clasped his palms together in a prayer motion. "Sara, please. You have to understand. My brother means everything to me. He's innocent. I have to save him. Now please go."

"So, you're going to leave?" Sara placed her hands high on her waist. She tossed her hand at him. "Just like that?" Sara's tone was accusing and harsh, causing Michael to inwardly grimace. "I can't let you do that. I care about you too much to let you." She paused, looking down. "I also care too much to see a man that doesn't belong stay here."

Michael's head shot up. "What are you saying?"

Sara was directly in front of Michael in two bold strides. Gone was the shy woman trying to make everything right in the world, but hiding inside prison walls. Standing before Michael was a woman grown in the world, confident and keen on what she wanted. "I'm saying that the guards begin their check in ten minutes, so you better be gone before then."

Michael nodded. Neither realized how close they were, how close they were to touching, until Lincoln's fading voice reverberated against the walls, pulling them from whatever the future had to hold. Michael darted to the window, motioned down to his awaiting companions for another minute, then returned to his original position.

He clasped a hand around the side of Sara's neck, tangling his fingers in her hair, and brushed his lips tenderly across hers, stealing the only kiss that he would maybe ever get to feel from her. He drew back slightly and stared at her, taking in her expression of bliss as her eyes swayed inside closed eyelids and her lips remained parted. He whispered her name and she opened her eyes, hazel darting to meet crystal.

His hands didn't stray from their place, even as his whole body removed. "I have to go." he breathed, purposely putting emphasis on it.

Sara wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned back so she could look directly at him. Her hand roamed down his face, gently stroking his left cheek. Michael leaned into her touch, reaching up to move with her. How he was going to miss her. Sara inched forward so she was hovering over his lips. "I'll wait for you."

Michael stared at her, eyes searching relentlessly for any verification that she was serious. She smiled; she was. "You will?"

Sara nodded then grazed her lips over his, peeking out her tongue to taste the salt. "You owe me Baja."

Michael bowed his head and smiled to himself. How could this have happened? He'd planned everything out perfectly, a flawless plan if everything went according to it, yet he didn't plan to fall in love…nor did he plan for the Governor's daughter to fall in love with him. Michael pulled Sara towards him and laid a kiss on her forehead, stroking his thumb across her knuckle, before backing away.

He gripped the frames of the window, the tip of his boot clinking the freed iron bars leaned against the wall, and hoisted himself up onto the ledge once again. He knelt there, reaching out to enclose the rope in his hands, instructing himself to breathe as he looked up and down the pathway below him. The voices of the expected guards couldn't be heard yet, but unless he got across that wire and over that wall, he wasn't leaving that prison.

With a single glance back at Sara, photographically memorizing every contour of her face, the curve of her lips, he disappeared.

XXXX

_Present Day—Chicago_

The plane was late. If there was one thing he hated more it was being delayed. No one bothered to look at him, something he heaved a sigh of relief for. That was a good sign, so far. His eyes roved over all the faces, but didn't linger on any one of them in particular. They weren't whom he was here to see; he was here to see _her_. To find _her_.

As the silver bird circled the Chicago O'Hare Airport for the second time, making him even uneasier, his impatience only grew. There was no one on this plane he could talk to, no one he could sit with. He didn't want anyone endangering his identity; he'd been gone for four years, eluded this city after he'd broken himself, his brother, and a few other inmates out of a maximum prison. A couple suspicious glances had been cast his way throughout the ride, but nothing that darkened his mood or caused harm.

Constant worry overwhelmed him. What was he going to say to her? Would she even recognize him now with hair and a tan from hours in the tropic sun? He dreaded seeing the disappointment on her face; he couldn't bear it.

As the plane slowly began to make its descent onto earth, his fingers ground into the armrests and he closed his eyes. Her image clouded his mind; the last time he'd seen her, standing abandoned in the prison infirmary, watching as he escaped punished hands. What would she be like now? Does she look the same? Is she still working? Would she be happy to see him? Secretly, he'd hoped she'd welcome him back and he could sweep her off her feet, but that didn't help ease his mind. He was ready for anything.

An hour seemed to pass by as the plane skidded to a stop and the passengers stood in a frenzy, excited talk filling the confinement. He waited for the aisles to clear then removed himself, gliding down the long portable hallway and entering the deserted terminal. He paused and studied his surroundings. _Welcome home. _He smiled and started a hurried through the airport, pushing past people as he ran.

Corner gift shops and small restaurants passed in a daze, the televisions behind the glass desks turned to the major news stations. Sara Tancredi's face covered the screen. Michael didn't see any of them.

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	2. Looking for Sara Tancredi

**A/N: **Thanks for all the reviews. Sorry it wasn't up earlier; I've had a couple problems uploading it.

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Michael flipped open his cell phone, finding the microscopic numbers at the bottom of the screen, then closed it again. He'd done this most of the afternoon, periodically checking the time as if it alone was going to relinquish the numbers that he was waiting for. Nerves bit at his stomach, but a swirl of anxiousness wired his senses. He was both nervous and excited at the same time. He didn't know which sensation made him feel more comfortable.

He already checked into the hotel that he would be staying at, flashing a polite smile at the receptionist as she handed him his card that granted entrance into the luxurious suites. The hotel was specially selected, a private yet divine place that would allow him the freedom to slip in and out to any place he wished without the risk of identification. He'd left minutes later, having left a voice message on Veronica's cell phone guaranteeing that he'd gotten there safely, hailing a cab for his mission.

The taxi driver spouted a conversation with him, complaining about the ignorance of the cities many residents, shouting at a sudden pedestrian walked out across the street, oblivious to the traffic backing down the intersection. The yellow cab lurched to a halt, throwing Michael forward slightly into the seat in front of him. He glanced at the male driving and spilled an exaggerated agreement, turning his attention back to the neighborhoods.

The streets—half lit by the setting sun—passing outside were a sterile white, wiped clean of garbage and lingering dirtiness. The houses, row houses towering tall and aligned to each other with the same trim and same structure, were packed neatly next to one another, leaving only a small sliver in between that provided the room necessary for a single person to slip through into the backyard. The doors were centered, a window on each side viewing the city that looked into the dining room and living room, and had a glossy brass knocker. Blooming flowers of various colors were planted in pots, placed on each marble step leading up to the door. The green trees swayed in the light wind.

Michael expected to stop in front of one of these houses, believing Sara had the money for such a place, but they journeyed on. Doubt built with every house they missed. Maybe he was approaching this wrong. Maybe it would be better to call her and set up some time to meet her. That'd make him feel safer, wouldn't it? He sighed; he couldn't believe how much self-turmoil this was causing him. He'd never been like this in his life, even during the breakout. He was in uncharted territories here. Oh God, could he even do this?

He cleared his throat, settling his mind on something else for the rest of the drive. He focused on picturing her. He couldn't help but smile. Just imagining her now was a challenge; he had no idea what she was like now. A small part liked that, the possibility of uncertainty. It was definitely something new. The driver interrupted him suddenly, repeating the name in question back to him. He confirmed, leaning forward, wondering if there was some problem. The cab slid in beside a curb, pausing to a stop.

Michael thanked the driver, handing him the money as he stepped out, his eyes examining the building. The bricks were tan, glued with cement, stacked up five stories high. Polished letters read the name of the apartment building. For a man that'd been in Chicago for most of his professional career, it amazed him he'd never heard of this place before. There was no doorman standing under the canopy as he walked up, holding the door open with a smile, and the lobby looked more like a refurbished hotel that'd been graded with four stars. Michael swept over the lobby, taking in the people reading in chairs and couches in the corner, drinking their coffee or alcohol, then strolled up to the receptionist's desk.

The petite blonde in a navy uniform smiled at him, lacing her hands together on the granite counter top. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to find Sara Tancredi. She forgot to give me her room number and she won't answer her phone." Michael lied. Was he really dumb enough to vomit out his real motives?

The woman—identified as Eve from her nametag—rambled on her computer, typing in on the keypad. Her eyes rhythmically cast a glance at Michael, looking at him suspiciously. She finally stopped. "Miss. Tancredi is in room 302, third floor."

Michael nodded, twisting his lips. "Thank-you."

He abandoned the counter; not hearing the whispered words passed between the two receptionists' about him, and glided to the elevator, waiting for the steel transportation to open. They did and an elderly couple ambled out. Michael let them pass then entered himself, punching in the button for the floor he desired. The door closed, shutting him out from reality. His picture disappeared, his face lost from the world for ten seconds. He watched the floor light up, displaying the number they passed. The box thundered to an abrupt stop, dinging before opening.

The hall was long, with only two doors on each side. The even on one side, the odd on the other. Michael's steps with cautious, but faltered as if at any second they would take off in the other direction, realizing the mistake he could be taking. But he slowly drew closer. He found her apartment at the very end; the door painted ivy green with dulled numbers. His hand lifted; he knocked.

He tugged at the cuffs of his dress jacket, smoothing his hands over the piece, straightening any wrinkles. Loud footsteps could be heard before they stopped in front of the door. He could feel eyes on him. He smiled, preparing to see her again, pulling his hands out from his pockets where they had set to reside. The door slowly opened. _The curtain drew back. _

The smile instantly began to fade. A man, his black hair shuffled in every direction and a towel draped over his left shoulder, stood in the doorway, slowly retracting his index finger from his pursed lips. He looked at Michael, eyes narrowing at the stranger. Michael, in turn, studied him. The man, an unexpected opponent, was tall, a muscular build hidden under his sharp dress shirt and pants. Michael received a bad vibe.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, keeping his hand on the doorframe.

Michael shook his head in disbelief. "I'm sorry." He ran his hand over his head, embarrassed for the mix up. "They told me to come up here. I was looking for Sara Tancredi. Do you—"

The man stopped him. He waved his hand in a gesture that suggested he wished that Michael would come in then he turned his head over his shoulder. "Sara!" he hollered.

Sara joined the man in her apartment. Michael's eyes widened. There she was, as radiant as ever. Her red hair, jumbled in loose curls, cascaded down her shoulder, shadowing her eyes. She moved to brush it away. Not a hint of surprise graced her face. "Michael, hi."

Michael's word came out a hurried breath, his lips tugging to smile as this happened. "Hey Doc."

Sara glanced at the man, laying a hand on his arm. "Can you give me a minute to talk to him?"

The man smiled. "Okay, but not too long. The food will get cold."

The man kissed Sara's cheek; she smiled, turning to offer her cheek. Michael clenched his fists; his heart ripped. The man vanished back inside and Sara stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her. She crossed her arms over her chest as she huddled in the hall, finding it cold. Michael backed away. An awkward silence followed. What are two adults who haven't seen each other in four years to say?

"What are you doing here?" Sara asked.

"Who's that guy?" Michael countered.

"Michael…"Sara groaned in response.

Michael shrugged, shuffling his feet. "I came back. We're free. Lincoln was—"

"Exonerated, I know." Sara cut in. Michael looked at her expectedly. "I followed the case after you left."

"Why?"

Sara didn't answer at first. She couldn't. "Hope, I guess." She caught herself before she could continue. "Michael, I'm not going to do this. I can't." She paused. "Listen, I'm sort of in the middle of something right now so why don't you come back tomorrow around noon? I have a few weeks off. We can have lunch or something."

Michael hesitated. "It's a date."

He didn't want to leave; he felt he couldn't. He came all the way back here to a polluted city from a tropical island to see the woman he fell in love with and this was the time she granted him? The interaction was too short. He certainly couldn't have been building up everything just for _that_? It wasn't supposed to be this way. He bowed out; accepting the time assigned to him, and migrated down the hall, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator. He cast a look at her, swallowing the memory. In a way, she was leaving him behind instead of him leaving her again.

Sara stood in her spot for a few minutes after Michael left, listening intently for his footsteps to disappear. She dumped her face in her hands, blowing out a breath. Her heart was beating so fast, beating like that of a band drum. She couldn't believe that after all this time he could still make her heart react that way. Why today? Why now? Why had he chosen now to come back into her life? Especially this week?

She pushed all questions to the back of her mind for the night and entered her apartment again. The man was leaned over the stove, wooden spoon poised at his lips, as he tasted the red sauce. He smiled at her as she approached. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his broad shoulder.

"Who was that?" the man inquired, offering the spoon to her for a taste testing.

Sara took a grateful lick, waving her burned tongue. "He's an old friend." she managed to explain. "He's been out of town for a while. Now he's back."

"I've never met him before." the man reminded.

"Well,"—she shrugged—"he's been gone a long time."

"Did you miss him?"

Sara hesitated, thinking of the real answer. "Yeah. A lot actually."

XXXX

Michael arrived back at his hotel room thirty minutes later. After such a disappointing first meeting, he'd walked back. It was dark by the time he got back. He needed the time with his thoughts. He just couldn't figure out who that guy was. It was bothering him to no end. She said she would wait on him, right? He grimaced each time he thought that maybe she got bored and moved on, moved on to _him_. The hotel room was a beacon for his melancholy mind.

He collapsed on the chair in the corner, sinking into the cushions. He flicked the small lamp on the nightstand, but left the rest to night. The curtains were still drawn back, letting the city substitute a nightlight. He listened to the noise, to the racket of a city hotel. He sniffed, sucking in everything falling to pieces inside of him, and dug in his jacket for his cell phone. He typed in the number to his brother's home. A home, he didn't have that yet.

The phone rung twice before a masculine voice responded nearly muffled by talking in the background. LJ had the television on too loud again. "Hello?"

"Hey LJ, its Uncle Mike, put your dad on." Michael ordered gently.

"Oh, hey. How'd the thing go?" LJ questioned, jumping to other business.

Michael smiled. Four years with Veronica could make any solitary person nosy. "LJ, get Lincoln."

"Okay." LJ groaned. "Dad!"

Michael cringed as LJ yelled close to the receiver. A scolding proceeded, trailed by arguing as the phone was yanked away from the teenager. "Hey, Michael."

"Hey Linc."

Lincoln recognized that tone. "What happened?"

Michael wavered in telling him. He groaned. "There was another man at her apartment."

"Ah, man, I'm sorry. Maybe it's not what you think."

"I don't know what to think, honestly."

Lincoln laughed. "That's a first!"

"Shut up. I'm having lunch with her tomorrow."

"That's good. You can talk."

"You know, this is weird that I'm coming to you for relationship advice."

Lincoln scoffed in mockery. "Hey, I can be a considerate listener when I want to. I give good advice."

Michael smiled as laughter filled the distance on the other end of the line. LJ was laughing hysterically at his father's confession. Lincoln yelled then returned to Michael. The younger of the two combed his hand over his head again. "I don't know what to do. She said she'd wait for me, right?"

"Right. Michael, she loves you. Anyone could see it."

"Then why do I feel this crappy?"

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	3. So Far Away

**A/N: **This song featured below is _Far Away _by Nickleback; I saw a Michael/Sara video for this song and I felt it fit perfectly with a lot of what's happening.

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_This time, This place  
Misused, Mistakes  
Too long, Too late  
Who was I to make you wait  
Just one chance  
Just one breath  
Just in case there's just one left  
'Cause you know,  
you know, you know_

_That I love you  
I have loved you all along  
And I miss you  
Been far away for far too long  
I keep dreaming you'll be with me  
and you'll never go  
Stop breathing if  
I don't see you anymore_

Again, he'd opted for the stairs. He'd been standing outside her apartment, staring at the crass numbers bolted to the fine wood, hands imprisoned in the scratchy feel of his pockets, for nearly ten minutes. His knuckles were pressed against the fabric, stretching the insides because of his clench fist. He withdrew his hand and flicked his wrist, flinging his watch further down the bone that connected his arm to his hand. 12:02. He was two minutes late. He blubbered through his mouth and paced the length of the hall, kicking his feet, reprimanding himself.

He treaded the hall from one side to the other twice before he abruptly stopped himself next to her door. He reached his hands and braced them against the plaster. He balanced himself there, heavily relying on the structure to keep his dying weight, pitied with self-doubt and nervous adrenaline, stable. He rubbed his eyes, hopefully wiping any indication of the sleepless night he'd endured because of this said meeting that would get started if he would just bulk up the courage to knock on the door. His thoughts kept him awake all night; he just wanted it over with.

All the words he had originally planned to say to her face the previous suddenly came back like a memory flash. The verbose speech he had prudently planned on the plane rewired itself, clocking at perfect timing. He straightened, an overwhelming sense of false confidence powering him, and strode over to her door. He stood there and prepped his clothing to look acceptable. He wore jeans with patches of fading blue and a fitted short-sleeve shirt underneath a jacket. He swallowed, but his limbs grew antsy. Maybe he could just talk and leave, leaving her little time to react and retort with some witty comment he was sure she had in her.

Before he could contemplate longer, the door before him opened. Sara peaked out, widening the space once she realized who was her persistent visitor. A tint of recognition coated her eyes. She looked up and down the aisle then at Michael. He was frozen. "Michael, how long have you been out here?"

"Longer than necessary." Michael replied. The ache to leave was building and something else was crawling in.

Sara took a step back and held the door open. A smell of tranquility seeped through the opening, hitting Michael in the gut. Sara was cooking and it smelled very good. "Okay. Would you like to come in?"

Michael took an instant step back, wringing his hands together in a tangle tussle. He didn't look at her. "No. I'm not staying. I just want to say one thing." Michael cautiously explained. He kept the distance broad as Sara joined him outside, pulling the door closed as she moved. He looked around, suddenly wondering if this was the right place to talk. But then he figured it was the middle of the day on a Tuesday; people were at work.

"I spent twelve hours on a plane yesterday thinking about what I was going to say to you. I've never had a problem with saying things but it's difficult with you—but that's beyond the point. I was expecting anything, Sara. I was ready for you to slam the door in my face, or to reject me or whatever."

Sara crossed her arms. Why did she have a feeling this wasn't going to end with a pleasant lunch? "Michael—"

His voice came back stronger. "But I was **_not_** ready to see you with another man! I can't see you with another man unless that man was me. You have no idea how that killed me, Sara. To see you with another man, after you promised you'd wait for me."

Sara dropped her arms. Was he actually going to accuse her of such larceny? "That was four years ago. You were gone for four years! I didn't hear a word from you. Did you really think I'd keep to that, especially in the circumstances?"

"Yes!" Michael exclaimed. "Jesus, you gave me your word. You vowed you'd wait." He shrugged. "Granted we didn't meet in the best situation, but that shouldn't matter."

Sara moved forward, advancing on Michael. "Exactly." she hushed. "You were a criminal, Michael, who broke out of prison. Do you have any idea what position that put me in? I didn't hear anything from you. I assumed you were dead." Michael saw the tears in her eyes as she said the last sentence. The pain in her voice made him believe that the idea of never seeing him could truly hurt her. Could it? Her hands slivered onto his arm, stroking her thumb over his sleeve. "So I moved on."

"I was waiting for the right moment to come back into your life so we could be together." Michael informed her, lowering his voice to a gentle demeanor.

Sara tucked her lips in, meshing them together. She rolled her eyes, letting her arms drop to her sides. "You missed the right moment. It was probably three years ago!" She tossed her arm to the side to emphasize the gravity of the years. "I still loved you, but I can't now. I'm engaged!"

Michael's lips, previously poised to snap out another remark, clamped down immediately. Engaged? Did she just say she was engaged? His eyes searched hers, wishing to God's end that she was lying. Then his eyes traveled down the length of her body, maneuvering over to her left hand. His breath caught in his throat. _No. _She wasn't lying. Fitted onto the third finger of her left hand was a diamond engagement ring, crystallized and shimmering against the sunlight crackling it into a million shards.

Sara watched his reaction change from overwhelming shock to overall hurt. "Engaged?" He choked on the word.

"Yes." Sara muttered, looking down, both embarrassed and afraid to look at him again as he progressed this information.

Michael nodded, locked on the accessory adorning her finger. Engaged; the word twisted deeper and deeper into his mind. The man was her fiancé. That's who he was. She was marrying someone who wasn't him. He saw her hand reach out in hope of getting some emotion, but he backed away, sidestepping her. She couldn't touch him, not now. He fought the lump in his throat. The desire to cry fueled his surge to lash out.

Without warning, his fist collided with the wall. Sara cried his name, rushing forward to protect him from harm, but he did it again, cursing loudly. Skin slammed into wood again and again to his arm was tired. Blood trickled down his knuckles, off the tips of his fingers into raindrops to the ground. Sara said his name, wanting to comfort him. How could he have been so stupid? He was selfish to believe that after four years he could come back and she would be willing to be with him. It was a shameful fantasy.

He punched the wall again, again making Sara yelp. "Michael, stop!" she cried. "God, stop, please! Why are you doing this?"

He whirled around. "Because I'm still in love with you!" he screamed.

Sara was left without words as his words sank in. The tears surged back to the surface. Her hand covered her mouth, muffling a sob. The silence became too much for Michael to bare. He spun around and headed for the stairs.

"Michael, please." Sara sobbed out.

She tried to grab his hand before he could leave, but he moved on. His hand grasped the banister; he stopped. His head turned slightly. He could see her out of the corner of her eye. "What's his name?"

Sara hugged her arms, rubbing carefully. She was cold. "Colin Miller."

_Sara Miller, _Michael scoffed. _Sara Scofield sounds better. _"He's a lucky man. Tell him that for me."

With that, he proceeded down to the first landing, making the turn to disappear, but Sara stopped him. He wavered, giving her the opportunity to say something else. She gulped. "The wedding's tomorrow, at the little chapel on the corner of tenth at three o'clock. I'd like you to come." She paused, wanting to see if Michael would take the information into consideration and leave, but he stayed in his spot. "I loved you, Michael, I did. But we waited too long. We missed it. I moved on."

"You don't have to explain yourself, Sara."

"I know, but I want to."

Michael smiled slightly, fondly remembering when he said that to her. She'd just discovered he was married and he could sense the jealousy in her. This was serving as payback. Now he knew what it felt like to be jealous, especially when someone he loved was taken from him. He continued down the stairs.

He was too late; the ring on her finger just made it official.

XXXX


	4. You Owe Me Baja

**A/N: **This is the last chapter of _the Right Moment_. Thanks for everyone who read and/or reviewed. The lyrics sampled below are, again, to _Far Away_ by Nickleback.

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Letting go is a decision that can never be dictated to us. It is a resolution we make on our own. It's easy to hold onto memories, to hold onto someone who loved us. But we have no way of knowing whether that person will person will return out of thin air, so we hold onto that thought. If we choose to hold onto that past, closing our hearts, we will grow with bitterness and wishful yearning.

Sara Tancredi stood in front of the vanity mirror, tucked away in a silent corner of the bride's room of the church. Her fingers, manicured in the early morning, sprinkled across the fabric of her clothing, hiding the butterflies hoarding her stomach. The large creatures with tattered wings felt ready of rupture from their cocoon, escaping into the world of utmost lunacy. The room, decorated simply for the small occasions, suffocated her. The walls drew closer, trapping her inside; was she giving everything up?

Her bridesmaids rushed around her in an infinite race, preparing in such a manner that reflected urgency. The women, their hair perfectly designed in identical styles, were scantly clad in lingerie; only a few were ahead by having slipped on their dresses. The radio soothingly tuned to a slow melody barely peaked over the nervous prattle of the women. Sara swallowed; their frantic feet mimicked her nerves in flawless unison. But maybe they were more nervous than she was.

The past day had passed in a blur. She was on this rollercoaster, being dragged onto the death ride by her fiancé. Colin pulled her through everything, instructing her patiently through the last rehearsal. In her conscious, she was pre-occupied with her conversation with Michael. She couldn't get him out of her mind; he was like a plague, infecting every inch of her body. She couldn't think correctly—or evenly sanely—when she was around him. Every protective wall crumbled down. She was no longer that cautious and calculated woman she had personified herself as; she was messy and incorrigible. She couldn't fix it.

Her hand grazed her forehead, bowing her head, and she breathed in. A hand grasped her naked shoulder; she looked over. Her best friend smiled encouragingly at her, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Sara smiled politely at her, keeping her eyes on the woman as she talked to her. As the schedule was given to her, last second reminders of changed items, time expanded and plummeted into the black hole.

In less than two hours she was going to be Mrs. Colin Miller and Michael Scofield just walked back into her life.

XXXX

The cab rolled up to the curb, easing to a slow halt in front of the crowded church. He hesitated at first, eyes widening in amazement at the size. The cab driver, his hat cloaking his emerald eyes, turned in his seat and asked the young man cautiously if he was going to climb from the yellow car. Michael merely nodded and got out. Throngs of people entered the church; elderly and little girls alike holding the arms of suited men, the large men at the door allowing them passage into the event. Michael stood alone of the pure sidewalk, inspecting all routes inside.

He watched the line outside the door, how it didn't decrease in the short few minutes as people pleaded with the men at the door to let them in, then observed the others eligible to enter. He built comparisons and contrasts. He cracked his knuckles, ready for game play, and slipped into the back of a group of people around his age passing through the first doors. No one looked in his direction. He held his breath for a second longer when he noticed another man at the second door, watching over a beaming woman handing out booklets and welcoming the guests.

The man's eyes fell on him; he looked away. He was handed a booklet, which he accepted. A rough hand grabbed his arm, yanking him backyard into the passageway. Steel eyes pounced on him. "Name please."

Michael cleared his throat. "Scofield, Michael."

The man skimmed the packet of papers in his hands, flipped clean pages out as his pen probed down the list of names. He stopped and his eyes flicked up to Michael. He stood back. "All right. Enjoy the ceremony."

Michael nodded. "Thank-you."

He hurriedly slid past the man, worrying for a second he would he held back again. He stopped in the center of the aisle, for the first time seeing the majesty of the ceremony. Every pew except the last three were filled, elegantly dressed guests molded together. People brushed past him, offering a smile. No one recognized them. He scanned the audience, looking for any clue of someone he knew. Suits of black and blue lined the pews, professionally beside women adorned in their finest. Many of the men were older, insisting they were the Governor's business partners or friends instead of people associated with Sara.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar face glass by. He turned his head and saw Warden Henry Pope, arm linked with his wife, making his way down the wall aisle. He waved at someone and, offering his wife the seat first, slid into a middle pew. Pope glanced around, roving over all the faces. Michael instantly ducked into the fourth-to-last pew. The little girl in a lace dress cast a look at him, but she ignored him.

He bit his lip, anxiously bobbing his leg as his hands wrung the booklet. After a minute, he looked at it only to find a twisted and torn sliver of crinkled paper. Curiosity engulfed him; he smoothed the booklet out on his knee and stared down at the front cover. It was a cream, a sketch of the church at the top. Inscriptions in a fancy writing announced the ceremony. _The Celebration of Marriage between Colin Thomas Miller and Sara Marie Tancredi on September 14, 2006._ Seeing her name written beside the other man's caused anger to rise in his chest; he crunched the paper in his hand, gripping it tighter between his fingers. He set it in the empty space beside him, abandoning it, and turned towards the wedding.

As if on cue, the mahogany doors closed briefly, indicating that no more people were allowed to enter. Soft music began to play, the orchestra in the front directing the atmosphere into the prologue of the ceremony. A hush fell over the audience as they all turned to the doors. They slowly opened and revealed a line of people waiting. One by one, the bridesmaid and groomsmen proceeded down the aisle, beaming at the people. Each man, gently holding the arm of the woman in identical dresses, was dressed in a military uniform, colorful patches and medals peaking out from the morbid color. Three couples entered, quickly followed by a man Michael instantly recognized. Colin, in a uniform identical to his groomsmen, ushered down the aisle, holding the arm of his mother.

He joined the other men at the front and folded his hands, firmly planting his feet. His eyes fell on the doors in the back. A small boy, no older than five, trampled down the white-coated aisle, holding a plush pillow into the open air. The ring-bearer was followed immediately by two small girls, baskets of rose petals hanging on their arms. The girls, the ribbons in their hair swaying to the side, tossed the petals into the air, the delicate fabric tumbling to the floor. The girls reached their finished destination, baskets empty. All heads turned; people stood. Another lullaby picked up. The doors opened wide, a light breeze breathing out. Sun leaked in.

Michael nearly choked; Sara glided through the doorway on the arm of her father. Her heels barely peaked out from under the hem of her gown. The train crawled over the floor. Michael admired her. She positively glowed. Her gown, the purity of white, was strapless, a flowing earth green ribbon cascading down her waist. The top was expertly beaded, matching well with the few visible patterns of the lace. Her hair was in loose curls, her make-up fitting with the style choice, rolling across her porcelain shoulders. Her masqueraded eyes kept on Colin, her fingers wringing around the stem of the pink and white rose bouquet.

Her eyes swept over the faces she passed. Michael's face stood out. Her eyes widened slightly, but she remained calm and like a puppet. Her father urged her on, handing her off to Colin once the priest confirmed it. He asked everyone to be seated; in a wave the crowd sat. Sara passed her bouquet to her maid of honor then entwined her hands in Colin's, beaming at him as he whispered to her. Occasionally, her eyes picked out Michael in the back.

The priest, Bible in hand, bid the audience. "If there is anyone who has a reason why these two souls should not be joined in holy matrimony, please speak now or forever hold your peace."

Sara and Colin both looked over at the audience, daring anyone to stand. Sara looked a Michael, a part of her praying he wouldn't stand, but another part hoping he would. Michael licked his lips, but held in his words. He didn't stand. The priest nodded and continued. The ceremony flew smoothly, siting the many wedding traditions, until the I do's. Colin smiled at Sara and proclaimed his part of the vow. He heaved a held breath once the words were uttered, chuckling to himself. Everyone watched Sara expectedly

She hesitated, parting her lips to say the words. She faltered. Michael bowed his head again, feeling his heart rip deeper. This was killing him inside; he thought he would have the strength to sit through the entire thing, but in truth he didn't.

"And Sara, do you take this man to be your husband?" the priest repeated.

"Congratulations, Sara." Michael whispered.

With the praise said, he stood and exited the church. Sara noticed and watched him leave, feeling her heart tug. His figure loomed, until it disappeared completely. A lump lodged in her throat.

"I…" she began, eyes still trained on the door where Michael had left. She looked at Colin, who was waiting. "I…don't."

A chorus of gasps and questions echoed through the room, reverberating off the stone walls. Governor Tancredi stood angrily. Colin leaned forward. "What?"

"Colin, you're a great guy, but I fell in love years ago with another man. I let him walk out of my life. I tried to forget him and move on, but I can't. But now he's back and I've realized that I'm still that silly girl in love. It wouldn't be fair to you to continue with this marriage when I'm not really in it. It wouldn't. And I can't let him leave again. You'll find a spectacular girl, but it isn't me." She retracted her hands, sliding them out. "I'm sorry. But I have to go."

She picked up her dress and ran back down the aisle. She ignored the hundreds of people around her. She didn't care anymore. She didn't care about the people, she didn't care what her father would say, or what the media would say. This was her life and it was her decision. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stampeded down the stairs. She halted on the sidewalk, looking up and down the street. Her face was flushed; was she too late?

She desperately whirled around, growing increasingly scared she was too late. But then, right there to her left, she saw Michael. He was ambling down the sidewalk; hands balled in his pockets, kicking a rock like a soccer ball.

She smiled. "Hey Scofield." she called.

Michael, hearing the wind whistle his name, turned around. He stopped when he saw Sara running towards him. He stumbled slightly as she jumped into his arms. She hugged him tightly to her.

His eyes were questioning. "What are you doing? Your wedding—"

"Is not happening. Not to Colin to anyway." Sara finished.

Michael smiled and wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly to him. Sara smiled up at him, stroking his cheek. She leaned close to him, hovering teasingly over his lips. "How's this for the right moment?" she inquired.

Michael nodded. He cupped her face and brought her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He drew back, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip. Her eyes sweltered. "You owe me Baja." she said.

Michael laughed. Blue met brown. Velvet lips touched. Heels dangled in the air. Conjoined giggles pierced the air.

_I wanted  
I wanted you to stay  
'Cause I needed  
I need to hear you say  
That I love you  
I have loved you all along  
And I forgive you  
For being away for far too long  
So keep breathing  
'Cause I'm not leaving you anymore  
Believe it  
Hold on to me and, never let me go  
Keep breathing_

XXXX


End file.
